Sinking Ships
by Surrealijah
Summary: Renault, Isadora, Legault. Post FE 7, hinting on FE6 perhaps? This is a fic gift for Gunlord500. Pardon me for being a little late in uploading (i need to brush up on FE7 again, since Renault is so mysterious) Cheers to reviewyness!


He slumped in the dark alleyway, bludgeoned and bloody from the unrelenting lances of the advancing Lycian Knights. He winced, feeling a searing pain from the lacerations on his left arm and his torso. He was fighting for the strongest military country in Elibe, and his service was not inexpensive. But then, he looked at the blurring, smoke-filled Bern skies, and compared it to the pieces of gold he was paid with, he felt that he had just committed a lethally ignorant mistake. Not so long ago, he worked alongside Marquess Pherae. He felt that he have done things right. Now he felt exactly the opposite.

He drew a sharp breath. He knew he was drastically losing blood. He coughed hard, chancing to glance at the black soot falling from the sky. He noticed that it came from the nearby burning hut. He felt like a worthless speck of soot for returning to his blade-for-hire ways, and to add insult to injury, he chose to be hired by a ruthless, baseless, megalomaniac country that never really cared a about anything but to stay in power.

His vision blurred with tears of pain. He gripped his arm in desperate means of stopping the bleeding, all to end in vain. Why does everything he believed in starts out good, yet ends up bad? More or less than ten years ago, the Black Fang had gone awry with the manipulation of Nergal. Fast-forward today, ten years after, the group was gone, and now his allegiance is with Bern- whom he thought of having just intentions at first.

He took out something from his roomy cloak pocket. A blood- marred lasso that fell from the paladin he just fought a while ago. He sighed. In the midst of a stuporic tug of war between living and dying, his mind flashed the morbid images back…

_The sky echoed with agonizing, clamorous noises from the civilians and soldiers alike. He was cornered by a white steed mounted by a silver- armored knight who carried a light yet sturdy spear and a sheathed silver sword, plus the insignia of Lycia on the horse's breastplate. Judging from those, he concluded that it might be death. He thought the knight would charge, but instead, kept a significantly safe distance from him._

_"Legault the Hurricane," the feminine voice startled him, "run while ye may; I don't want to fight you,"_

_The voice is quite familiar, but he cannot identify any longer. He was about to step nearer, but the point of her lance met his face. "Nearer, and I shall stab you!" She said in a voice that didn't convince him that she was brave enough. "Run now!"_

_Instead of running away, he charged nearer to her after finding a small chink on her helmet with his keen eyes. He was intent on aiming at it. However, the last thing he remembered was a searing pain on his sides from her spear. As he lay bleeding, he saw the paladin dropping a blue lasso on purpose, and galloped away on her white horse._

He have no idea how he managed to carry himself as far as where he is at the moment. His breathing was already labored, and he was about to pass out at any moment. He closed his eyes, wishing never to wake up again if there would be more mistakes and losses. He's grown tired and weary of unfortunately riding ships that are destined to sink. It's time to face the reaper, he thought. He opened his failing eyes for one last time, and saw a figure looming above him. His built was that of a warrior, but there was no mistaking that he is not: he was tall and caped in white, with a staff on his right hand. His hair was long and silvery.

"You must be Death," he muttered weakly, unsure of the identity of the man, "take me now,"

* * *

He opened his eyes, his whole body sore. He junked the conclusion that hell looks like a tavern. He is alive. Mysteriously.

The door opened and the innkeeper came in. "Heavens! You are alive! And miraculously! It has been three days!" he babbled with delight. He didn't quite know how to respond with the owner's jubilation. Legault shook his head in faint remembrance, asking the innkeeper, "How did I manage?"

The innkeeper gave him a satisfied smile. "Well, there was a man, looking like a cleric or something, who brought you here. At first, I was reluctant and told him that this is not an infirmary. You are too bloody and lifeless, for crying out loud!"

Legault remembered being bloody and lifeless. He watched the innkeeper settled on a stool, with a basin and towel, supposedly for disinfecting the wounds. "But the clergyman was persistent, I tell you. He told me that as a man fighting for my country, it is my duty to help you out. He refused to leave his name, preferring to stay in anonymity. He just mentioned that his mission is to rescue castaways from sinking ships until they are recovered and can sail away again anew. Pray I know what he means,"

The chuckling of the old innkeeper resonated to the spacious bedchamber. Surprisingly, he found himself smiling. "I think I have an idea who that is," he muttered, "but, I have nothing to pay you,"

The man shook his head, saying, "Please rest easy. Your rent has been paid by a certain lady knight that came here shortly after the clergyman left. I showed her you, thinking that you might be acquainted with each other. She said yes, as foes, but she was really after the cleric. I have always believed that there are kind-hearted people among our enemies,"

All the more, he was confused. He spotted the blue lasso on the side table, reached for it painfully, and said, "How does she look like?"

"Very lovely. And she said that you can keep that lasso. I think she is leaving knighthood for a certain clergy. Saint Eli-something. "

Hearing the words of the man, Legault willed to stood up, but failed. He was still too weak to be functional. He clenched the lasso, and under restrained disappointment, he grumbled, "I think I have just missed my ship,"

"Perhaps," the innkeeper tapped him on the shoulders, smiled a fatherly smile that he found oddly comforting. The man figured out his thoughts, perhaps. He was not used to strangers being kind to him, but he didn't fight his comfort.

"Yes?" for the first time, he wanted to listen to advices.

"Perhaps there is a better opportunity for you to sail. Life is not all calm waters. Sometimes you have to wait to avoid being shipwrecked again. Hurricanes stop, and waves lull, too."

Legault nodded, uttering a prayer of thanks to Renault and Isadora.


End file.
